


To build a home

by xShieru



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, takes place in America, this was supposed to be posted during iwaoi week day 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 09:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2264073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xShieru/pseuds/xShieru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Two people who are running away from their old lives and problems find each other. That's all there is to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To build a home

**Author's Note:**

> -wheezes- yes I finally finished this. Man, school is a piece of shit. My sleep schedule is all wrecked and I'm uninspired, and- yeah.  
> Guys, just a word of advice - don't ever do what Iwaizumi and Oikawa did. Ever. It's not nice. 
> 
> This is set in America but since I never stepped a single foot outside of Europe idk if any of this is accurate. IF ANYTHING IS WRONG BLAME GOOGLE FOR BAD INFO.

i.

 

Crowds make him fidgety. Being surrounded by people like this, it’s always been an unpleasant feeling. He can cope with it, human presence that is - but the noise, the sound, the screams and loud cheers make Hajime frown more than he usually does.

He sits in the middle of this living, breathing mass of black and red, center-top of the stands in a huge baseball field. The sound doesn’t reach that well here. Hajime is glad for what little solitude it provides. The exit's nearby so he won’t have to deal with fearing he’ll get torn to shreds once the black-red dragon rises at the end of the game.

Hajime’s slouching forward, a bottle of water squeezed lightly between his fingertips, half of his attention focused on the game. He’s never appreciated baseball that much. However, he leans in even further when one particular baseball player leaves the dugout, the reason why he’s sitting here to begin with.

The crowd roars appreciatively as a change of players is announced. Hajime waits for the man to occupy the batter’s box, back turned to the spectators. ‘K. Iwaizumi’ is emblazoned on the back of the batter’s jersey in thick, black letters and Hajime feels a swell of pride in his chest when he sees a boy no older than eight staring at the batter, his father, with big adoring eyes. It reminds him of childhood, back when he was just like that kid, staring at his old man as though he was a superhero and the opponent team was a bad guy that he had to defeat.

It’s the bottom of the ninth, first and second bases loaded. Hajime’s eyes flicker to the scoreboard. The fans hold their breath but he doesn’t worry. Doesn’t need to worry. He knows his old man can do it.

His mom is somewhere in here, lost in that blur of colors, breath batted and her fists clenched, unaware of her son’s presence. It’s better this way, Hajime thinks.

After all he came here to say goodbye.

The ball flies to the center field and Hajime stands up. The crowd roars so loud it sends tremors down his spine. Hajime takes the last few steps towards the exit and sends one look over his shoulder.

His dad has always been a hero. The kid in the stands screams out a cracked ‘ _Iwaizumiii!_ ’, stars shining in his eyes, cheeks flushed.

Hajime smiles.

He knows he isn’t needed here anymore.

-

“ _Kenta Iwaizumi proves himself once again and takes his team to the semi-finals!_ ”

-

Hajime takes the duffel bag, his keys and hides the wallet in the folds of his thin jacket. His parents aren’t home. He didn’t expect them to be, which makes it easier for him to step outside and stick the goodbye letter to the door.

The dried grass smells of fading summer days, alluring and pleasant yet he feels a little melancholic. Maybe it’s because he's finally leaving the house that has served as his home for the last twelve years. Maybe it’s because the lawn and the garden smell just like the fields by their old house back in Miyagi prefecture, Japan. It’s a distant memory that’s deeply etched into Hajime’s heart and mind.

It sort of feels nostalgic, like forgotten friends, happy moments and days spent together. They probably don’t remember him anymore and to be completely honest neither does Hajime. He’s forgotten a lot of things like what their old house smelled like, how the true Japanese food tasted on his tongue and how the language sounded to his ears.

But those are precious memories locked inside his head, memories of his homeland. This is his home now.

This was his home until a few moments ago.

He crosses the short distance from the porch to the gates almost completely hidden by a luscious hedge that his mother had nurtured and taken care of during the heat wave. She was pretty damn proud of it too.

He’ll miss his parents. He’s a bad son, he thinks, for leaving so suddenly without a single warning but he knows that they would’ve tried to stop him. He’ll miss mom worrying over everything and he will miss his dad who was far too famous to stay home for longer than three hours.

Last summer when he stood on the platform in front of his high school, his mother shedding tears over the fact that her little boy was all grown up now, Hajime had accepted the diploma and finally made up his mind.

The road is calling his name.

One last look at the sparkling white two-story house and he’s out.

 

ii.

 

There’s no set destination in his mind. United States of America spans vastly before him and Hajime Iwaizumi wishes to see all that it has to offer. The problem is money.

Or rather would be if he was young and stupid, but he’s been preparing for a while so he has more than enough to buy an ancient shitty van that’s barely holding itself together and doesn’t ‘eat’ too much diesel. He kind of hates it, it’s white and it attracts dust like metal to magnet, but it’s better than nothing. It’s better than those pieces of shit hippie vans with rainbow-colored weeds painted on their sides and the usual fuzzy dices hanging from the mirrors.

Hajime always imagined himself traveling on a badass motorcycle, but L.A.’s weather could be a bitch to predict sometimes so a solid roof above his head is the best choice.

He spends the first night of his journey treading the streets of his second hometown, moping around and being sentimental. Will he ever return here? He’s not sure.

He doesn’t want to return. He doesn’t feel like he belongs here.

At 4 a.m. Hajime reaches his favored location, feet buried in the sand, cold water lapping at the soles of his feet and rising up to his ankles. He’s not alone, it’s not the type of city where Hajime can find solace anyways, but he feels calm. He wonders what his parents are doing and how long it will take for them to notice that their nineteen-year-old son is gone.

Hajime looks up to the sky. Sometimes he wishes that he could see the stars.

He calls some of his friends to say his farewells. The phone beeps periodically while Hajime enjoys the wind on his face, the scent of salt lingering in the air.

They don’t pick up.

 

iii.

 

During the first few weeks he spends more time outside than in his shitty van which he had christened ‘Pissbaby’ because sometimes it refused to come back to life, as in, Hajime had to sweat and curse a lot in order to start the engine. Maybe he made the wrong choice when he bought it.

“C’mon, work. What the hell do you want, you piece of useless scrap!” Iwaizumi yells and hits the wheel forcefully, exasperated, when the van stubbornly refuses to oblige its master. “You’re even more whimsical than a picky girl!” he mutters darkly as if the van is a person and can actually understand him. The engine purrs playfully and Hajime bumps his forehead against the ratty leather cover of the wheel.

He goes to San Francisco just because. More time is spent moping around, staring at the ocean knowing that somewhere far far away, miles upon miles, the same ocean is eroding away the sandy beaches of Japan.

Next morning he buys the greasiest hot dog he’s ever eaten and stops by a souvenir shop. He thinks that he should start collecting post cards.

He wants to sell Pissbaby to some stoner and buy a more trustworthy car but in the end he cannot. He already considers it a friend as weird as that is.

“You’re fucking welcome,” Hajime says as he drives through the night city, orange lights blurring into a mass of neon blobs.

His Pissbaby stays silent except for the steady sound of engine and annoying dubstep blaring through the speakers. Hajime changes the radio station.

He decides to drive the whole night. He’s not feeling very tired.

Hajime’s phone rests on the empty passenger’s seat, silent. He sends an anxious look its way as if hoping to get a message or a call but then he remembers that he chucked his SIM card into the ocean along with his friends, family and his old life.

 

iv.

 

Three days later he isn’t sure where the fuck he is. It’s not like he’s been reading the signs or anything but he never would’ve thought that it was so easy to get lost on a highway. But then he remembers as an afterthought that for the past twelve years he’s never truly left Los Angeles. Well he’s been to New York a few times - mom called it a road trip even, though they only went there coz dad had an important meeting - but other than that he’s been caged in that city.

Hajime got used to the fast food, cheap motels and his sweaty shirt sticking to his back and the leather seat of Pissbaby. The heat is reaching extremes, steadily climbing to eighty-two degrees and what the fuck it’s almost September and this is just plain weird. The further he rides the hotter it gets and he has to roll down the windows almost all the way as he chugs the last bottle of water. He needs to pass a fast food diner or a gas station or right about anything if he doesn’t want to die from imminent dehydration. But there’s nothing - only the dusty road, dirt and endless dried grass stretched before his tired blue eyes. There’s no life in sight.

An hour later Hajime's thinking whether he’s fucked this up because where the hell is he and why didn’t he buy a map beforehand, what a god-awful _genius_ he is, when he spots something in the horizon. He has to squint at the road and pat the passenger seat when Pissbaby produces another unhappy sounding purr. He’ll consider himself cursed if the van stops here. Wherever this is. All he knows is that it’s akin to a desert and he cannot recall ever passing these lands on his brief ‘family road trips’.

First thing he needs to do, before downing a bunch of water when he gets another chance, is to buy a map. A proper one. And maybe learn to read the signs while he’s at it instead of daydreaming and brooding.

No one is taking this route for either obvious reasons or, well, Hajime doesn’t really have a clue, so he has no one to somehow try and stop in order to ask for directions. But then the dot in the horizon takes the shape of a person seated on a suitcase. Hajime almost feels like crying tears of relief and he’s pretty sure that person is feeling the same because who the hell wanders this desert in this heat somewhere in the middle of nowhere. The person quickly shoots up from their lounging pose, long thin limbs and all, and holds one arm out - an indication for Hajime to stop.

He’s more than happy to oblige and so is Pissbaby when the dusty, worn tires screech to a sudden halt and Hajime stares at what seems to be a gift sent from heavens above. Not because this guy looks like he's just stepped off the runway, but coz he has a faded map placed on the ground, held in place by the side of the navy-colored suitcase.

Hajime would praise every deity above but then the guy stretches those long thin limbs and flexes his arms in a distracting manner - he probably sat around there twisted up in that same position for a very long while - slaps on a million watt smile and comes closer, fingertips skidding over the roof of the van.

The nameless guy is dressed in a white, wet t-shirt and Hajime doesn’t mean wet like his sweaty kind of wet. This guy probably had to pour water all over himself in order to not turn into a melted puddle on asphalt. A dark red snapback is neatly placed on top of his head, the uneven strands of reddish-brown hair poking out from under it, damp and sticking out in different directions. His insanely long legs - is this guy like seventy percent leg, Hajime just isn’t sure - are covered by light, well-worn jeans, and the guy’s black sneakers are coated in a fair layer of dust. He seems no older than Hajime, judging by appearance alone, perhaps even younger.

Maybe his ride broke down? Clearly he hasn’t been sitting in the sun for too long either - his face doesn’t have a hint of stubble and his smile is pearly white, Hajime notes - but when he does a quick once-over of the plain, barren surroundings he sees nothing new other than what seems to be a tumbleweed.

Hajime catches his own reflection, an unpleasant view, on the reflective surface of the man’s aviator shades. The guy hums happily in greeting. Hajime’s eyebrows shoot up and almost disappear into his hairline.

“Either you’re lost or, well, you’re lost,” the guy chirps far too joyfully, claps his hands together excitedly and leans in. Hajime unconsciously leans back, hands tightening on the wheel. He doesn’t like the guy already. “Aren’t you lucky?”

Hajime vaguely considers driving away. He can find another friendly highway creep some other time. “How am I lost? It’s a highway; it’s bound to end sometime.”

The stranger looks into the distance, his lower lip sticking out just the tiniest bit. He seems contemplative for a second but Hajime can’t see his eyes so he can’t be sure. “Hmm, I guess it was just a feeling then.”

“What are you, a fucking mind reader?” Hajime frowns, a sour expression twisting up his face and gives him the stink eye. He’s thoroughly ignored.

“Possibly.” He flashes Hajime that annoyingly fake smile. “My services don’t come cheap and since I already used my awesome powers on you, how about you give me a lift?”

Hajime considers it for a moment and the guy seems to notice his judging look. With a heavy sigh, he takes off the shades and Hajime is met by a pair of beautiful, chocolate-colored eyes. Their shape practically screams Asian and if he listens closely he can pick up the accent in his words. Hajime’s heart flutters. If he were any less of a down-to-earth realist he would've thought that somehow this was fate. “I swear I’m not some creep who will stab you, dump your body and take your ride.” He pats Pissbaby’s roof again. “It’s not worth it.”

“So you’d do it if it was.”

“Most likely!”

“Now I really feel like refusing,” Hajime murmurs but he really needs that map and some guidance. The guy didn’t just drop out of sky; he had to get here from somewhere.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that! Isn’t taking in complete strangers on road trips way more exciting?”

“Not if they’re complete psychopaths.”

“But didn’t I just say that I’m not one.” The guy pouts and shifts his weight from one foot to another. “Tell you what. You take me with you and I navigate. That way you’ll know where you’re going.”

“Who says I’m lost!?” Hajime bristles and the guy has the nerve to laugh at him. It’s a rich, smooth sound that fuels Hajime’s anger even more.

“You have that ‘little lost lamb’ expression etched on your face. ‘Sides as you can see no one ever goes down this highway for a good reason.” He spreads his arms out wide as if to prove his point. “And that’s coz it ends in another…” he raises a hand to his eyes and frowns. “I’d say nine miles. Maybe ten at most.”

Hajime feels like a complete fool. He should’ve noticed the state of the road. It was obviously out of use for a long while, more akin to those dirt roads in cornfields than anything else. His pride won’t let him to admit it out lout but he knows that this man has the upper hand and judging by the smug smirk Hajime knows that he knows. He wants to slap it away.

“Well?” the stranger chimes. “I’m waiting.”

Hajime knows that he will regret this. A lot. “Where to?” he asks silently, reluctantly, and the guy beams at him.

“No set destination, captain. Wherever you take me is fine.”

“So I’m allowed to drop you off in the middle of nowhere?”

“We’re already standing here so I don’t see how that’s a problem. I’ll behave! You won’t even notice that I’m here.” The guy winks playfully all smiles and pretentious ass-kissing.

“No radio hogging too.”

“I promise,” he salutes and then walks away to take his really friggin small suitcase. He folds the map and pretty much skips to the other side of the car while Hajime takes the pillow and his useless phone away. The guy makes himself comfortable and Iwaizumi tries to start the engine. Frankly it seems that his Pissbaby is no longer acting like a true pissbaby now that there’s another passenger inside.

‘You like this guy, don’t you?’ he questions bitterly inside his mind. The car doesn’t answer and Iwaizumi side-eyes the guy who is busy ogling himself in the mirror, snapback thrown on the backseat, hair cut in a stylish and not at all Justin Bieber-esque, like Hajime had initially assumed, way.

“This heat is the worst, I thought I was going to fry there,” he complains and runs his fingers over his hair, making it tousled. Hajime sort of feels uncomfortable and his throat tightens. “I thought I would have to hike all the way to Kansas or something. Thank god a complete weirdo showed up, I’m so lucky!”

“A weir—do you want to die!? Why were you hiking in the first place?” Hajime asks without putting much thought into it beforehand. It naturally rolls off his tongue and he sees the guy visibly stiffen, he’s certain he didn’t imagine it.

“What can I say? I like adventure,” he answers plainly with forced cheerfulness and Hajime does not pry. The guy is obviously touchy-feely about the subject and quickly changes the topic. “So, since we’re gonna be travel buddies from now on, how about you tell me your name?”

He doesn’t want to. Not that he truly doesn’t want to but he realizes that his last name might ring a few bells in this stranger’s head and he absolutely cannot let that happen. How many Iwaizumis are out there? A lot for sure, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. He’s running from his old life, remember?

“Hajime,” he says and looks back to the road stretching before him and his new companion. Pissbaby makes a sound as if to confirm that it’s not a lie.

He can feel the guy’s stare on the side of his face, curious and calculating. “Simple. I like that,” he hums his approval and Iwaizumi does not need to turn to know that the guy’s grinning again. “I’m Tooru. Just Tooru,” the guy – Tooru – says lightheartedly and sighs. “Nice peach fuzz by the way, Hajime,” he then adds, voice alluring, smile just a tad too sultry.

Iwaizumi glares at him and self-consciously scrubs at the stubble peppering his jaw. He spent far too long on the road. Tooru laughs, content, and Hajime wants to hit the brakes hard so that he hits his head against the windshield or something but it would be too much stress on Pissbaby so he refrains himself.

Tooru with his long legs and his flirty smiles is a problem, Hajime realizes belatedly.

 

v.

 

Tooru is a menace to his sanity.

And it’s only been a day.

The self-satisfied, shit-eating grin he shoots Iwaizumi’s way when he offers a water bottle - though they’ve been arguing over the directions and destinations for a good ten minutes - infuriates him more than this shitty van. Tooru knows that Hajime cannot refuse. Tooru also knows that he’s been aimlessly wandering around for days.

“Don’t slobber over it. That would be like an indirect kiss,” the guy mock warns him and Iwaizumi does a spit-take, droplets of water covering the windshield.

“Nevermind, you can keep it,” he wrinkles his nose as Hajime coughs violently.

He is in a possession of a nasty attitude which brings out Hajime’s usually well-controlled angry side and that's certainly a huge achievement. They fight over dumb stuff, fight over the radio and then fight over the directions some more. Tooru acts like a huge know-it-all and honestly Iwaizumi acts like one too only if it’s to spite the other.

He’s losing 3 to 11 by the time the sun sets and they are out in a normal highway, on their way Kansas.

“Hey, don’t change the station!” the menace whines for _nth_ time that day and Hajime is _this close_ to stopping the van and kicking him out. Hajime doesn’t listen, eyebrow twitching. “I liked that song!”

“No lording over the radio, stupid. You agreed to it.”

“Boo, you’re no fun. No-fun-allowed Hajime. I bet all the girls adore you.” Tooru smirks slyly and Hajime already knows that it means he’s ready to sass him - he had experienced it firsthand. Besides, his facial expressions aren’t too hard read. “No, wait, I bet you’re the soul of the parties!”

“Damn it, if you don’t shut up within the span of the next five seconds I will _stop_ this van, I swear to—“

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. Pissbaby coughs, sneezes and the engine dies.

They stop.

Both of them stare, eyes wide. One minute passes. Then another. Tooru blinks slowly and Hajime’s—

Hajime is _done_.

“Motherfuc—“

“Well, look on the bright side, there’s a motel nearby.” Tooru points at a bunch of neon lights flickering in the distance. “You could use a break from driving. And a shower. Definitely a shower.”

“Oh my god, _shut.up._ ”

\--

“You’re sleeping on the floor.”

“What!? I’m not sleeping on the floor, do you have any idea what that stuff does to my back!?”

“Then don’t sleep at all for all I care,” Hajime growls and resumes toweling his hair. He really did need that shower. He feels like a brand new person. Tooru had been half-lying on the bed, sprawled horizontally over the mattress, feet planted on the inlaid floor, a magazine held in hands. When Hajime exited the shower, the guy froze up, his magazine slipping out of his grasp and neatly smacking him across the face. Hajime had merely rolled his eyes, writing it off as one more quirk and gap in the Tooru species.

That weird staring and awkward silence thing had went on until Hajime announced that he was taking the bed.

“I hiked like fifteen miles today!”

“I was driving for four days straight. You said that I needed a break.”

“I haven’t slept since Wednesday!” Tooru whines, eyebrows knit. “At least be fair and let’s settle this with a game or something.”

Once he says that, they immediately jump back for some extra space between them, expressions serious.

“Rock, paper, scissors—“

\--

How the hell did it end up like this.

Hajime craves for sleep. He’s never felt so relaxed, not since he had left home and his amazing bed. By now his muscles are pretty much asleep but his mind works overtime and he can’t even close his eyes, staring off into the distance, focused on nothing in particular.

He does not need to look at the mechanical clock to know it’s way past 3 a.m.

A soft moan resounds behind him. Hajime closes his bloodshot eyes, eyebrows furrowed. Something hot touches his back and he tries not to cringe or fall off the bed. He’s already laying on the very edge of it.

He blames it all on that piece of shit for a van. If his fucking van hadn’t died they wouldn’t have gone to this motel in the first place. If they wouldn’t have gone here then the fucking lady at the desk wouldn’t have told them that there was only one room available and that room just happened to have a single bed. If this room didn’t have one bed they wouldn’t have to share one.

Yes. _Share it_.

They just met this afternoon and now they're sharing a bed. Something is really fucked up with that logic, Hajime is certain.

Tooru is a heavy sleeper. Hajime had tried to kick him back to his side of the bed multiple times but the guy never woke and always inched into Hajime’s personal space. He also mumbled in his sleep and talked utter nonsense. He kept calling out to someone in a different language and after a while Iwaizumi recognized it to be Japanese. He only made out words such as ‘no’, ‘don’t eat that’ and ‘that’s not a hotpot’. He also chuckled in his sleep. Well, at least one of them had a damn good rest.

When they both threw rock in their little game of _jankenpon_ , Tooru had clapped his hands.

“That settles it.”

Iwaizumi frowned, confused. “What do you mean by that? Let’s go for another round.”

He only tutted. “Nope! We both chose rock that means we’re even. We both get the bed.”

“Like sleeping shifts or something?”

“Hajime, you’re kind of dense. We’re sharing it.”

The latter choked on air, cheeks bright red. “I’m not sharing a bed with you!” he shouted, offended. There was no way in hell he would—

“Is there a problem? Are you afraid I will molest you in your sleep or something? Isn’t sharing a bed only logical in this situation?” Tooru sprawled back on the bed, arms splayed. “You can either argue and act shy or pick a side and sleep. Which one do you prefer?”

Hajime had stilled, openly gaping at this strange being of a man. How could one not value their personal space? How was he comfortable enough to share a bed with him, grumpy Hajime, who called him a dumbass more than fifty times in the span of two hours? They weren’t even friends. Traveling companions didn’t even begin to describe it properly. They were still complete strangers who didn’t get along.

But damn, the idea of sleeping on the floor really didn’t appeal to him.

So in the end he had agreed and Tooru took the left side of the bed while Hajime took the right.

He never expected to get all close and personal with that guy. He tried to console himself that Tooru was asleep thus incapable of doing anything to him, completely unaware of his surroundings, eating his imaginary food. Every little moan Tooru lets out reverberates inside Hajime’s tired mind, shakes his body to the very core, makes his face hotter than necessary.

Some time later Tooru’s excited giggles fade and turn distressed. He starts tossing and turning and Hajime slowly rises up to a half-seated position, wondering if he should shake the man awake and end his obviously bad dream. The man lets out another agonized whine and somehow, even in his sleep, he finds Hajime’s arm and holds onto it tightly, fingers cold and clammy.

“ _Toshi, Toshi_ no… p-please.”

Hajime watches with wide eyes as the man trembles, spots the damp trails of tears formed on Tooru’s cheekbones. He keeps on trashing in their shared bed and in the end Hajime makes up his mind, fingers curled around the man’s covered shoulders, shaking him awake. It’s a hard task because the more Hajime tries, the more Tooru’s sanity clings to that nightmare, unwilling to let go of it.

“It’s just a dream… just a bad dream,” he whispers soothingly and while Tooru does not wake up, he calms down a little once Hajime shyly starts running his hands through the clean, soft hair, tenderly rubbing his scalp.

That night he doesn’t sleep. Instead Hajime makes himself a cup of instant coffee and curls up on the windowsill, sleepily staring into the distance, the neon blue and red signs of the motel hurting his eyes. The cup burns his palms but he barely notices because his thoughts are with Tooru and his wasteland of bad dreams. Maybe there is more to him than meets the eye. There has to be a reason why Iwaizumi found him there.

Hajime is unaware of the fact that he isn’t the only one awake.

\--

They don’t talk about it, Hajime because he’s not sure how to bring it up, and Tooru because of obvious reasons.

 

vi.

 

Four days later Hajime gets used to Tooru’s annoying ways and constant presence completely. He knows how to tune him out when he rants too much about meaningless shit and how to ignore the trashy pop music blasting through Pissbaby’s speakers. He’s given up on fighting over the radio.

They get Pissbaby fixed within a few hours - Hajime had forgotten to check the oil - and they were back on the road before they knew it, no particular destination in their minds.

Hajime keeps tabs on the mile count – they have wandered less than he had initially predicted. At the end of the fourth day Tooru had checked his wallet while Hajime fell a few paces behind, eating the remains of his disgusting chicken sandwich. If there was one thing he missed other than the constant access to the shower and his comfortable bed, it was obviously homemade food.

“I’m low on cash,” Tooru said and threw a dirty napkin into a lone trashcan nearby. It flew right in. “Hajime, how ‘bout we go to Vegas? I could get rich in three hours.”

The latter stopped chewing, staring into the distance contemplatively. The sun was a barely visible stripe of red and orange faded into the distance. The sky was a cool shade of cobalt blue, black clouds hanging from the direction they had come from, the direction of Hajime’s hometown and the shimmering lights of Las Vegas. The clouds made everything feel ten times more ominous than it actually was.

“We’re not going back,” Hajime spoke up, voice firm and leaving no room for arguments. Tooru stared at him with a hard to decipher look in his brown eyes. “You’re done eating? If so get in the van, I’m driving. We’re not staying here for the night.”

“Typical,” he said, unhappy. “At least stop by a casino or something?”

“What if you lose what little cash you have on you?”

“Then you can win it back with your own! Ah, wait, no I was kidding— _ouch_! Hajimeee, you have so little fate in me!” Tooru complained while rubbing a sore spot where Iwaizumi’s knuckles had made contact. “I’m an expert when it comes to gambling! They don’t call me ‘Lucky Tooru’ for nothing!” he winked playfully and made some over-exaggerated action hero pose. Hajime only rolled his eyes.

“Like hell will I trust a guy who almost got us killed!” Hajime countered and Tooru grabbed his chest, feigning hurt disbelief.

“I told you there was an animal on the road! I almost had a heart attack. Plus I can’t get used to American cars. It’s the wheel, blame the wheel!”

Tooru wasn’t the most flawless driver out there and they moved at turtle speed whenever he offered to take over, so that Iwaizumi could catch a few hours of shuteye. It had been his fault, he begrudgingly realizes, he was the one who told Tooru to drive even though the sun had already set and the visibility was total shit. If they had died together back then, then God would have undeniably sentenced him.

He could only sigh.

“If you lose everything and get indebted to some local mafia in the process, I’m not bailing you out.”

“Mean!”

“Just being a realist,” Hajime grumbled and unlocked Pissbaby. “Now hop in and let’s get going already. That guy’s been staring at you for a while now so if you get yourself kidnapped I won’t do a thing,” he whispered, eyeing some creepy biker dude in a pornstache and shades. The guy had been keeping a close look on Tooru, or his ass in particular, ever since they went inside the gas station. It kind of made Hajime feel uneasy while his companion didn’t even notice, like he was used to this kind of attention and dealt with it daily.

“Aww you really do care,” Tooru cooed, but then his body went lax and he fixed Iwaizumi with that indecipherable stare again. His child-like playfulness disappeared in an instant. “Hajime, please take me to Vegas.”

It made anger eat away at his heart as he snapped. “Didn’t you hear? I said that I’m not going back. If you want it so badly just ask that creep to give you a ride on his bike, I’m sure he'll agree to it for certain offers.”

He knew that it was mean, uncalled for too and that he had fucked up. His assumptions were confirmed. His companion stared at him disbelievingly, and to be honest, Hajime was a bit shocked as well. Were his people skills dead already?

“Learn how to face your fucking problems head-on instead of taking it out on others, asshole,” Tooru hissed, slammed the passenger door shut, flipped him off and then speed walked away, leaving Iwaizumi to stew in his frustration alone.

He could only hit his head against the wheel and groan at the slight sting of pain.

“Great, just _great_.”

\--

He had waited for Tooru's return for half an hour, every passing minute stabbing him like a knife of solidified guilt. The silence was strangling him and the lack of human presence by his side made him insecure. Thirty-two minutes and forty seconds later Iwaizumi made up his mind and left the van to look for his annoying travel buddy.

He found him by the side of the highway on his fifth can of beer, no money left in his pockets, drunk and obviously upset. Tooru flinched away when Hajime placed a palm on one bony shoulder and stood up far too quickly, swaying unsteadily, shivering from the cold. The wind was picking up, storm clouds rolling above their heads, getting closer every second.

“I… won my first lottery when I was nine,” Tooru slurred and wiped at his red-rimmed eyes with the back of his sleeve. Hajime didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that his companion had been crying. He was glad that it was dark. He couldn’t see the tears in his eyes. “Just coz I’m ‘Lucky Tooru’ when it comes to gambling and f-finances, it doesn’t mean that I’m ‘Lucky Tooru’ when it comes to e-everything else in my life, y-yeah? You can’t be good at everything, y-you just can’t! I—” his voice cracked and he placed one hand over his heart, fisting the material of the thin shirt. “Can get heartbroken too, okay. “

To be honest Hajime still doesn't know how to deal with this, he didn’t know back then too. He tried to reach out to Tooru again but the said man only stumbled backwards, almost falling over.

“Listen, let’s go back, you’re drunk and—“

“ _Damare_ , Hajime,” he hissed in Japanese, annoyed. “I can accept the problems I have. Then why can’t you? Why are you running away from them? Why are you here today?”

“Why are you?” he countered the litany of questions with one of his own. He couldn’t be bothered to turn on his brakes, mind somewhere far away and common sense an unfamiliar concept.

Tooru had sauntered forward and fisted his hands into Iwaizumi’s shirt, pulling him close so that there was barely an inch between their faces. The brunet had a few inches over him and no matter how much Iwaizumi tried to see a single flaw in that face he couldn’t. Even the crease between those thin eyebrows didn’t ruin anything on that canvas painted with a frustrated kind of sadness.

 _A storm_ , Hajime had thought briefly as he finally took a good look at those chocolate-colored eyes usually sparkling with mischievousness. An unpredictable storm that could end you if you weren’t careful enough.

And Hajime isn’t careful. He’s a little kid running around in a field of tall grass while the thunder's grumbling warnings above his head, threatening to strike him down with a flash of lightning if he doesn’t dive for cover on time. Instead he chooses to sit there, come what may, and patiently wait for the clouds to disappear and the sun to shine.

That night Tooru had been a raging storm at its worst as he pressed their foreheads together, bitter tears rolling down his cheeks, splashing in hot puddles against Iwaizumi’s cheeks and the tip of his nose.

“Because the great and wonderful ‘Lucky Tooru’ is actually _breakable_.”

He had passed out and fell forward into Hajime’s waiting arms.

\--

Another night spent driving while listening to the sounds of Tooru’s muffled sobs and mumbles, tossing to the sides and hands reaching out to something that isn’t there.

The rain mercilessly beats the van’s roof, cleaning it but at the same time dirtying it even more. Hajime feels like he can relate.

He turns up the volume louder.

\--

They have to make a two day long stop until Tooru feels well enough to keep on going. Hajime pays for the room and lets Tooru take the bed while he aimlessly drives around, buying postcards and medicine.

 

vii.

 

“Um… Unadon!”

“Unagidonburi!”

“Isn’t it the same word? That’s cheating.”

“It’s not, it’s not! Your turn.”

“So it’s ri… ri… ririri… rin…? What’s Japanese for ‘apple’? It’s on the tip of my tongue but I forgot.”

“Seriously, Hajime? You forgot the word for apple but you remember ‘rice with broiled eel’?”

“Shut up! Just tell me the word.”

“It’s ringo. _Riiiiingo_. Rin—GO, RIN—”

“You can stop now. Let’s not play any more _Shiritori_ , I’m getting seriously hungry here.”

“Aaah, I’m starving. How much until the next stop point?”

“Twenty-five miles last time I checked.”

“I’m going to starve to death,” Tooru complains and tries to get comfortable on the passenger seat. “Wake me up when we’re there.”

“Now I won’t do it on purpose,” Iwaizumi teases and it works.

“Hajime, go back to the hell hole you came from,” he mumbles and closes his eyes. Hajime is ready to retort something sarcastic, but before he can, Tooru speaks up. “Do you miss it? Japan that is.”

It’s actually a very good question, Hajime concludes as he thinks over it. He can barely remember that country, his voice no longer has a hint of accent to it and one might think that he’s been living in the States his entire life. Why Tooru had assumed otherwise is beyond him. Yeah, maybe he really does miss it on some deep and emotional level, but the thing is that there’s no one truly waiting for him there. He’s uncertain as to when his train of thought had changed like this, but he knows that he hadn’t been thinking this way before Tooru crashed into his life.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, eyes fixed on the road. “It would be nice to visit, but I’m not sure if I’d like to stay there.”

“That’s a good response,” his travel buddy nods.

“And what about you? Do you miss it? I’m assuming that you haven’t stayed here as long as I have.”

He’s silent for a while and when Hajime is certain that he won’t get a response, Tooru speaks up again, contemplative. “I don’t. I used to, though, but not anymore. I miss it almost as much as you miss those four walls surrounded by journalists 24/7, Hajime Iwaizumi. And I’m certain that you do not miss _that_ or L.A. in general in any way.”

Hajime’s foot hits the brakes so suddenly that Tooru has to hold onto the seat, a squeal of surprise escaping him. If he’s surprised then Hajime is completely flabbergasted, body going cold and numb. “How do you know who I am?”

“Why didn’t you ask properly instead of trying to scare me to death? Jeez!” he growls unhappily but Iwaizumi couldn’t care less. His identity has been discovered. His mind jumps to the most unlikely conclusions. What if Tooru is a spy, one of those journalists paid an insane amount of money to travel with the runaway son of America’s most valued baseball star? What if Hajime’s been fooled all along? That thought makes his heart plummet down to his heels.

Tooru stares at him, bemused. “You look like I just killed your family before your eyes. I’m not here to sell you out or anything, Iwa — can I call you Iwa? Hajime’s too much of a hassle – so you can calm down.”

“F-For how long did you know?”

“All this time. You never questioned me so I pretended that I didn’t know.”

“And you haven’t said a single word!?” annoyance gnaws at Iwaizumi. God damn that Tooru.

“Did you want me to? Wouldn’t that have made things awkward? I thought you wanted anonymity. An escape.”

He sounds so honest that Iwaizumi feels guilty for snapping at him like that. Again. But this is one huge step ahead and at least three steps back. He kind of feels betrayed though a part of him is glad that Tooru treats him like a normal person instead of the son of a world-wide famous power batter. “Just who the hell are you, Tooru?”

The brunet rewards him with a lovely sort of smile that never fails to pluck at Iwaizumi’s heartstrings. “A random passerby you picked up on the side of the road. You gave me a new purpose. A goal. Offered me to travel with you—“

“I didn’t—“ Iwaizumi tries to interrupt, embarrassed.

“Iwa-chan, there’s nothing left for me there. Just like there’s nothing left for you. So why would I miss Japan or my old life when I have this? Just the two of us and Shiro on the road.”

Hajime’s heart combusts into a bunch of tiny particles and his face radiates heat. He’s too ashamed to look at Tooru. “First of all, cut the _Iwa-chan_ and don’t name my van however you wish.”

“Ah, it’s ours now!”

“It’s not!”

“It so is! And I named it Shiro!”

“Its name is Pissbaby.”

More blushing.

“Iwa-chan, you’re so cute, you named it! Though Pissbaby is plain rude, it’s a valued traveling companion.”

“I will call my damn van however the hell I please and if I say that it is Pissbaby then it is. And you’re like the talking house pet, but more annoying. See? I named everything.”

They act like they’re five and it’s everything they ever wanted.

\--

“You never answered me. How the hell did you know who I am? There are a bunch of grumpy-looking Asian guys out there, how’d you know I was ‘the one’.”

“You left your passport on the seat so I checked it out. I had a feeling that I’ve seen you somewhere before. By the way, my nephew is a huge fan of your dad. Can you give me an autograph or something?”

“Die.” Iwaizumi takes a sip of his cola and gives Tooru the keys. He gladly accepts them. “Is it weird when I say this but I think I’ve seen you somewhere before as well?”

Tooru gracefully stretches his legs and looks to the side. “Maybe you have.”

 

ix.

 

The purr of Pissbaby’s engine lulls Hajime to sleep within minutes and he’s pretty sure that he sleeps for no longer than five minutes when he feels Tooru’s fingertips on his cheek. The touch is strangely intimate, barely ghosting over his skin, lingering. Hajime’s right cheek is plastered to the window and his neck is sore. He wants to sleep for a few more minutes, but Tooru’s gentle touch turns into a light slapping that pulls him from his dreamy state.

“We’re here, Iwa-chan,” he mumbles and slaps Iwaizumi’s face some more ‘til he catches Tooru’s thin wrist tight enough to warn him to stop. Hajime lazily opens one eye and is surprised to see that the sky is black. He’s been sleeping for a whole day.

“Where’s ‘here’? Seriously, where are we?” he croaks out and holds back a yawn. Tooru leans out of his personal space.

“Stockton state park,” Tooru chirps excitedly, but it doesn’t ring a bell in Hajime’s tired mind.

“Huh? Doesn’t explain a thing.”

“Jeez, Iwa-chan, you’ve been living here for years. Have you ever bothered to learn some basic geography or find some nice places to visit?”

“If I wanted to be a geographer I would’ve done better in school and look at me now.” Hajime pushes himself up into a better position and rubs his neck. “Why’d you bring us here? Where are we anyways? Ah, which state is it?”

“Iwa, we’ve been in Missouri for two days now, what the hell,” Tooru states, eyebrows raised. “How does one miss something like that? How did you survive for that long? You would be lost without me.”

Hajime clips him on the back of his head and Tooru falls out of the car, disgruntled. “You should sign up for anger management classes.”

“You should sign up for courses where they teach you how to keep your mouth shut when talking to those who happen to have anger issues,” Hajime groans tiredly and steps outside. It’s a quiet place, not a single sign of civilization nearby. The road is rocky and the ground is uneven, small hills with tall trees further away. Before them stretches a huge lake of black water. Hajime nods in appreciation. It’s definitely a nice change. The wind is cool against his skin but not unpleasantly so and Tooru seems to be thinking the same when he starts stripping in lightning speed, tearing towards the water, leaving particles of clothing in his wake.

“Wait, you dumbass, don’t—“ Hajime shouts after him but it’s too late. Tooru doesn’t stop and dives into the black depths, resurfacing a few, very long and tense seconds later, shaking his head to the sides like a dog. Hajime has to squint in order to make out his form - their only source of light is Pissbaby’s headlights that do not reach that far. Tooru lets out a loud content laugh. “This feels great! Fancy a swim, Iwa-chan?”

“Wha—are you crazy!? It’s like 57 degrees out here!” he rubs his arms to warm himself and prove his point. “The water has to be freezing.”

“It’s not, though,” Tooru calls back from the water as he lazily swims in circles, trying his best to lure Iwaizumi in like a siren lures sailors. “It’s pretty warm actually. What is it, Iwa-chan? Scared of water? Can’t swim? You can tell me, I won’t judge.” Tooru’s white smile flashes in the darkness, a blatant provocation as he splashes around like a cat drowning in a puddle.

Iwaizumi takes off his shirt and rolls his shoulders. Damn, he’s stiff all over. Tooru wolf whistles and cheers so loudly that it disturbs the night life. “Free gun show! Free gun show!”

“Yeah yeah, keep shouting. I hope a bear shows up and eats your bony ass.” Iwaizumi peels off his jeans and glares at Tooru when the other says ‘damn son, have you been lifting’. “I’m fucking warning you, idiot, watch your back or I will drown you.”

“First get in here, big boy,” he cackles gleefully, swimming further away.

Iwaizumi runs after, determined, however his determination quickly dwindles when the water gets above his knees. “Shit, fuck no, it’s cold!” his teeth click together and Tooru swims/crawls closer, fingers touching the rocky bottom of the lake.

“I don’t know, seems pretty normal to me. Warmer than my morning showers, that’s for sure.”

“Are you fucking ice-diving every morning then?”

Tooru splashes him with cold water as an answer.

Iwaizumi pounces.

\--

They have an all-out water battle which Iwaizumi absolutely owns at and twenty minutes later they're far too cold and tired to continue, aimlessly floating on their backs. When Hajime makes his way towards the shore, Tooru raises his head from the cold water, rivulets streaming down his neck. “I… wanted to see the stars,” he confesses silently as though he’s afraid someone might overhear. “And take a dip in the lake before it gets too cold, but mostly see the stars.”

The sky is clear that night, millions of white specks sprinkled on dark blue satin surface. “Keep your eyes open. You might spot a shooting star, idiot,” Iwaizumi says, the insult sounding far too affectionate even to his own ears.

“I see them all the time. The stars, I mean.”

“When I hit you?”

“Witty, Iwa-chan. Very much so.”

“Whatever, weirdo. Get over here before you catch a cold.”

“…do you want to leave?” Tooru asks cautiously yet follows.

By now Iwaizumi knows what that look means and he takes the towel that Tooru had placed on Pissbaby’s roof, steps close to him and drapes it over his head, toweling the brown locks with some force. “We can stay for a bit if you want.”

\--

They change into thicker clothes immediately and after warming up for a bit, go outside, backs pressed against Pissbaby’s side. They don’t talk, only sit in comfortable silence which is rather strange, lost in their own thoughts. Somewhere around 2 a.m., Hajime feels a certain weight on his shoulder and looks to the side only to find that Tooru had dosed off. His breathing is steady and he seems to be having a good dream for once if the content sighs he lets out every once in a while are anything to judge by.

Hajime slowly shakes him and Tooru mumbles sleepily, fingers curled in the sleeve of Iwaizumi’s thick sweater. He doesn’t fully wake up when Iwaizumi ushers him inside and immediately doses off once Pissbaby’s engine starts purring.

Iwaizumi keeps his eyes on the road but his mind's elsewhere and once Tooru starts mumbling the usual litany of ‘ _please don’t_ ’s, he carefully laces their fingers together, squeezing lightly.

“It’s just a bad dream… I’m here…”

It feels a bit strange, foreign, but Tooru gradually calms down, hand warm and pliant in Hajime’s.

Hajime has a lot to think about that night, for example coming up with a proper name, a proper term for this strange relationship he’s sharing with Tooru.

 

x.

 

When Hajime sees the magazine stand at some random convenience store, he freezes. People probably think that he's an impressive wax statue or something and their stares betray concern. Hajime quickly snatches one of the mags from the rack, the search for provisions momentarily forgotten, pretty much throws the cash at the cashier’s surprised face and storms outside where Tooru is waiting, his usual shades and cap in place.

Hajime is almost breathing fire.

Tooru looks up from a newspaper which is conveniently covering half of his face. “Iwa-chan, you’re quick today. Did you get—“ he stops mid-sentence, confused. A flock of giggling teenage girls stand to the side, phones out and directed at Tooru’s back.

“When were you going to tell me?” Hajime throws the mag at his face and Tooru struggles to catch it before it hits the ground.

On the cover Tooru sees a photo of himself – the last photo they'd taken of him before he ran away. One of the headers is screaming ‘mysterious disappearance of Oikawa Tooru: rumor or reality!?’

Tooru swallows heavily, his throat constricting. “Iwa-chan, I can explain—“

“It better be a damn good explanation, too,” Hajime spits, hurt. “You didn’t trust me.”

“That’s not—“

“Learn to face your problems.” The other air quotes, turns on his heel and runs, intent on putting distance between them.

\--

Tooru – Oikawa – leaves him alone for the next few hours. Hajime closes his eyes and sees the sentences printed in that pretentious magazine, words that are completely untrue and fake. He knows that he had seen Oikawa somewhere and his first impression wasn’t truly wrong. Apparently Oikawa really is a famous model, the pride and joy of ‘Q management’.

They'd said that he was on a sick leave but the man’s apartment in the heart of NYC was empty and nobody had seen the guy for weeks – weeks he had spent traveling with Iwaizumi.

Hajime feels betrayed and stupid. He should’ve looked into this. Did Tooru not trust him? Didn’t he earn his trust over these weeks?

Was it dumb of Hajime to think that some strange thing was budding between them, steadily growing into something beautiful, something that had flourished the night Iwaizumi held Tooru’s hand, only occasionally letting go when he needed to shift a gear and turn a particularly sharp corner.

He stands up from a barstool located at some bar, pays for his non-alcoholic drink and leaves.

\--

 

He finds Tooru curled up by the Pissbaby. It seems that he hasn’t left for a while. The sun is almost setting and Hajime awkwardly stops nearby, shifting his weight. The brunet doesn’t look up.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” Oikawa says and slowly stands up, dusting off the back of his jeans - the same jeans he had worn on the day they met. “But let me get my stuff first.”

Hajime eyes him, jaw-slack. “Huh?” And what does the guy mean by that? Is this the end of their journey? Are they going their separate ways now?”

“There’s something in my suitcase which will… help me explain some stuff. Just, open the van.”

Hajime obliges. Tooru falls into Pissbaby and goes through their mess of bags dumped on the backseat. He emerges a moment later with a crumpled magazine held in one hand. The magazine somehow seems familiar to Iwaizumi. He can’t put his finger around it though.

“I want to make this as short as possible so listen closely and don’t daydream like you tend to, Iwa-chan, coz I sure as hell won’t ever be talking about this _again_.” He hands Iwaizumi the mess of crumpled papers already flipped to a certain article on page eight. Tooru’s holding onto it with the tips of his fingers as though the magazine's causing him physical pain. “Read this first. There might be less to explain.”

\--

It’s an article about a famous volleyball player and his ‘shocking love affair’ with some unknown girl. The two of them are holding hands and kissing, the photos blurry yet reliable. The man is wearing what Iwaizumi recognizes to be the usual disguise his own dad wears whenever he leaves the house - the same thing Oikawa's always worn in public yet Hajime never paid any attention to it - and he’s bending down so that the girl doesn’t have to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him properly.

It seems like the usual gossip article and Iwaizumi does not understand how it’s relevant to Oikawa at all until his eyes catch the name Ushijima Wakatoshi and it all falls into place.

“You didn’t tell me you were dating Ushiwaka,” Iwaizumi says, slightly taken aback, while Tooru stares at him incredulously.

“How’s that rele—how do you know _him_?”

“I’ve been a huge fan of volleyball my whole life. Not knowing this guy is like not knowing that the sky is blue.”

“Oh and you would know that, wouldn’t you?” Oikawa snaps, voice full of contempt. “Do me a favor and never talk about volleyball to me ever again.”

Hajime nods slowly and he means it. Tooru is far too disturbed to even look at the mag properly, the same mag he'd found on a coffee table all those days ago when Pissbaby broke down and they had to share a room and a bed at that rundown motel. The mere idea that Oikawa’s been dragging around the proof of his ex’s unfaithfulness hurts Hajime more than any of the fake smiles and grins that have been forced on him that day. Just the thought that Tooru couldn’t bring himself to let go this stage of his life, despite all of those lecturing speeches he'd pulled on Iwaizumi ass, seems insane.

“So what’s your tragic backstory, dumbass?” Hajime asks and leans against Pissbaby’s dirty side, looking into the distance. “Don’t tell me that all of this happened just coz of some shitty dude who cheated. You’re better than that.”

And Iwaizumi is wrong, _so very wrong_ , because the great and wonderful Tooru Oikawa really is breakable.

 

xi.

 

“We’re going to New York.”

“Iwa-chan, really, we shouldn’t go there. I _don’t_ want to go there.”

“We are going there and that’s fucking final. I don’t care if I will have to drive the entire time without any rest. I’m going even if it means tying you up. We will end this stage and turn another page in your life, okay? Just me and you. Now quit crying.”

\--

It fucking _hurts_ , seeing Oikawa dead-eyed and so thoroughly broken. It’s a view Hajime does not wish to see ever again because a single look at that face twisted up with lingering sadness tears him in half.

He can’t blame him for the tears. Oikawa really loved that guy, unworthy as he was.

The image of a five year old Tooru standing in front of tall mirrors with a happy expression coloring his kid-like face as he posed, almost drowning in his dad’s brand new Armani jacket, is etched deeply behind Iwaizumi's retinas. He feels as though he’s reliving Oikawa’s childhood along with him and Iwaizumi’s secretly upset that he never had the chance to get to know him before, never had the chance to support him, cheer him on, tell him that _losing is okay_ and that it’s a part of human nature.

All he can do now is tell him that Ushijima is a dickwad and he doesn’t deserve him, but Oikawa knows it himself and only laughs as if agreeing, though his eyes betray his heartbroken state.

“I came here for a fashion show. That was half a year ago. I was supposed to stay in NYC for a month, but after the grand opening I met him and my plans were screwed. Fell into a trap without even knowing.”

Ushijima had been smitten with Oikawa’s beauty and they hit it off immediately.

“I only wanted someone to like me for who I am, not some face on a magazine cover. I was dumb, gullible and desperate. I’m _always_ desperate.”

“Into extremes?”

“More than you know,” Tooru sighs and closes his eyes. “The whole relationship was one huge failure now that I think about it. It had to stay a secret. I was locked up like a true trophy wife while he showered me with attention and fake promises.” His laugh is dull. “But hell, they made me happy, Iwa-chan. Until I noticed that something was up.” Tooru’s nose wrinkles as he shoots another distasteful look at the magazine he’s still holding onto. Iwaizumi kind of wants to jump into those blurry photographs and punch the guy in the face. “We got into a huge fight and I ran away, hoping that he'd follow, find me and tell me I was wrong, and a week later this is what I see. Wanted him to reassure me that nothing’s changed between us.”

Iwaizumi is amazed by what an amazing actor Oikawa is. He's been holding up so well that Hajime didn’t even get the chance to glance under that cracked mask.

He’s only ever caught Oikawa with his defenses down twice. Both times he'd been staring at the screen of his phone, the corners of his lips downturned.

The girl that’s hanging onto Ushijima’s arm is cute and petite. She has a warm, love-high smile adorning her heart-shaped face and she's _everything_ that Tooru is _not_.

\--

NYC is a maze so he lets Oikawa drive. He navigates the streets as though he’s been living there his entire life and they make a wrong turn only once. The sound of traffic kind of makes Iwaizumi restrain the urge to slam his head against the window. He needs to get used to it.

Oikawa’s eyes shine brightly, finally a good change for once, when he drags Hajime to some ancient glasses store.

“I need a new disguise!” Tooru chirps and flies to the stand that sells the cheapest-looking glasses Iwaizumi’s ever seen. They weren’t that well off with money but Oikawa had promised to make a fortune if Iwaizumi let him run around freely for a few hours. He'd begrudgingly agreed. “Oh found something! Iwa-chan, close your eyes,” he orders and Hajime closes them but only after talking back.

Something heavy is placed on his face and he feels Tooru’s bony fingers on his shoulders, guiding him somewhere.

“Okay you can open them now!” he exclaims cheerfully and Iwaizumi obliges, only to find ridiculous lip-shaped, pink-tinted glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

“What is this monstrosity?” Hajime wants to sound serious but cracks a smile.

Tooru grins, pleased. He carefully removes the glasses, knuckles grazing the sides of Iwaizumi’s face. Another pair is slipped on. This time they’re beer bottle-shaped. Oikawa tilts his head to the side. “Nope, these ones definitely fit you better. Macho Iwa-chan.”

“Well, and I think these—“ Hajime starts, voice betraying his amusement as he chooses a ridiculous pair of Harry Potter-esque glasses completed with thick eyebrows and a nose with mustache attached to the frame. “Fit a know-it-all like you.”

Oikawa looks at himself in the mirror and bursts out in a fit of giggles. “My eyebrow game is pretty strong now. I hope you know that this means war. But let me take a pic first,” he says and pulls out his phone, turning on the camera. “C’mon, Iwa-chan. We don’t really have any photos together,” Tooru beckons him to step in closer and drapes a familiar hand over his shoulders. Hajime feels Tooru’s warmth seeping into the fabric of his clothes, his breath fanning against the side of his face as he lifts the phone above their heads, smiling brightly. There’s a digital click and Iwaizumi stares at the shot. He kind of likes it, mostly coz it captures Tooru’s honestly happy smile.

“I look like I’m high,” Hajime snorts.

“You always look like that. Or pissy.”

“That’s coz you piss me off.”

Tooru swipes off his glasses, and puts on another pair of shades. These ones have neon-green shutters. Oikawa takes his moment of confusion to snap another pic. “Rap for me, Kanye.”

Hajime chases him, threatening to shave off his hair. Tooru’s cheerful giggling echoes in the shop and the clerk scolds them for causing commotion.

\--

They agree to meet in Central park at 9 p.m. sharp. Hajime really has no fucking idea where he’s supposed to go, but Oikawa promises to call and guide him where he needs to. Apparently Central park is a whole lot bigger than he had initially assumed.

Oikawa disappears out of sight the moment Hajime sets a time and Hajime decides to do some sight-seeing himself.

And it all goes according to his plan until he decides to grab a bite at some place with free or at least cheap Wi-Fi access.

Hajime is a smart kid, he does his research thoroughly as he drinks his expensive-ass coffee and pokes at a parfait he had ordered for desert. It’s the last of his money and he hopes that Oikawa really wasn’t lying when he had reassured him that he was a gambling pro, those cheap card tricks at that one diner non-counting. Otherwise they’re screwed. They can’t go too far without any food for Pissbaby.

Speaking of Pissbaby…

One more reason why Hajime is in a desperate need of the internet.

Once he gets everything he needs, he bails out of the French café which is not so subtly trying to coerce him into buying more shit - jeez, what a fucking scam - and wonders if he’ll run into Oikawa. Chances are slim because the kid is either shopping or, well, shopping most likely. He’s probably rich already. He said that he works really fast when it comes to money. Hajime has no reason to doubt him.

He aimlessly wanders the overflowing streets of Manhattan and comes to a halt when he reaches his destination, a small sport equipment shop almost completely hidden out of view. Hajime looks at the shop’s window and a young and undeniably tired Japanese man – in a desperate need of a haircut - stares back. He has Hajime’s face, but the devious grin on his lips is unrecognizable.

The young man will grant that wish, softly-spoken and forgotten in the dead of the night, a single sentence that Oikawa is unaware Hajime had overheard.

Because Tooru Oikawa is even more important than his goals in life and means a whole lot more to him than on the moment they'd met.

\--

When he leaves the shop, a solid weight in his bag, Iwaizumi realizes that he’s set to go, ‘cept he’s kind of lost and has no idea how to contact Oikawa. They’ve never bothered to officially exchange phone numbers, always minding their own business. It was like an unspoken rule, an agreement they never broke no matter what circumstances.

It makes Iwaizumi mindlessly reach into the pocket of his jeans and take out his phone, however he almost drops it when he notices that it’s been toyed with. It’s all the same except for the background. It's been changed, from a dull gray picture to a photo of which’s existence he was blissfully unaware. It’s a photo of Oikawa smiling for the camera, the corners of his lips barely curled upwards but his eyes are overflowing with affection. The hand that’s not holding the phone is held up near his face, fingers curled in a peace sign. In the second plan Hajime's snoozing away, unaware of the fact that his companion is snapping photos of him.

Judging by their clothes, Hajime is pretty sure that this was taken back in Missouri and he belatedly realizes that he hasn’t touched his phone ever since then, hasn’t been waiting for calls that would never come. His finger hovers over the icon of his contact list and when he clicks it, Iwaizumi wants to cover his face with his hands. The throng of people circles around him, not sparing a second glance his way and Iwaizumi’s heart _swells, swells, swells_ —

There’s a single phone number in his contact list filed under the letter ‘T’.

And at that very moment Hajime Iwaizumi realizes that he’s so in love with the owner of this phone number that it physically hurts.

\--

When they meet up, Oikawa pretty much throws a bundle of cash into his face.

“You can thank me later,” he chirps and shakes the bulging bags. “Got some shopping done.”

“Dude, where do you plan to put all of that?” even though Iwaizumi has reached a life changing revelation a mere hour ago, that does not mean that he’s going to treat the guy any different. “Might as well rent a fucking trailer and then attach two more dedicated to your shit alone.”

“Great idea,” Oikawa agrees and throws his bags on the backseat. “By the way, where are we staying for the night? The money’s not a problem.” He winks playfully and Hajime tries not to let his devious smile show when he tells Oikawa to sit his ass down.

He hands him the bag that he'd been carrying around the entire day. With a questioning and a tad suspicious look Oikawa grabs it and then reaches inside. His eyes widen frantically as he touches his ‘gift’s’ smooth surface.

“I don’t follow,” he states as he takes out a brand new baseball bat, the sleek wood shining dimly from traffic lights.

“It’s a surprise,” Hajime simply says and takes a route he is unfamiliar with yet has memorized.

\--

“You’re kidding, Hajime,” Tooru speaks up after a while. Silence had stretched between them the moment they reached their destination, Pissbaby parked further away behind tall bushes to avoid the public eye. Oikawa’s stare skids from the bat clutched in his pale hands, to Iwaizumi’s emotionless face and then to the tall ornamented fence, made from quality metal. “I’m not—“

“Do you have the keys?”

“Huh?”

“The keys,” Hajime inquires. “To the house.”

Oikawa balks. “Y-yeah, but. Iwa-chan, you… we could get arrested for this.”

“We could get arrested for a lot of shit, man. It’s the bloody United States of America. And technically you still live here.” Hajime reasons and gestures to the bulking modern house. All of its lights are out but that’s expected, after all, Hajime knows that no one's here tonight. “Consider it a gift from a friend. What you decide to do with it is completely up to you. You can either use this opportunity and get rid of your past once and for all or we can leave and never step a foot in NYC ever again.”

The silence stretches between them again and Hajime thinks that perhaps he’s pushing too much and he really doesn’t understand what Oikawa truly needs and wants at all. However it’s the anxious kind of silence and Tooru breathes noisily through his nose.

“Well? We can’t waste a long time here, someone’s bound to get suspicious.“ Of course a huge, white van parked inconspicuously in the 'rich kid' district is bound to attract negative stares very soon. “Your answer, Tooru?”

A swallow and a nod of resolution. “I’m going, Hajime. Watch my back for me.”

“Of course.”

He will always watch that broad back. Always.

\--

Oikawa hurriedly unlocks the front gates and the moment he sneaks inside, two dogs the size of fucking horses bound up to them. However, once they notice that it’s Oikawa, their ferocious barking turns into happy whining and tail wagging. Tooru scratches one of those beasts - a fluffy German Sheppard that’s been eating way too much - behind the ears. He coos, hugging the animal as though it’s a fluffy stuffed toy and not something that could bite your head off in a single bite.

“Cerberus, did you miss papa?” Tooru fluffs up the dog’s fur even more and gets slobbered all over in response. “Me too, baby, I missed you too! Who’s a good boy?”

Iwaizumi clears his throat to stop this little spectacle that’s supposed to be a touching ‘family reunion’. The dogs growl at him in warning. “Uh, I know that you’re enjoying yourself but don’t you think we should get a move on? We need to move fast.”

“Iwa-chan, do you have a dog? A pet?”

“No?” Iwaizumi responds and scrunches up his nose. He’s never been an animal lover. He was okay with the fishes his mom kept but he viewed them as a simple house decoration and nothing more. He still doesn’t understand why his mother had cried when her goldfish died.

“Then you can’t possibly understand the bond a dog and its master share. Isn’t that right, Cerberus, Kira? Iwa-chan’s a big brute with no feelings!” The dogs yip loudly as if agreeing. “See?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Iwa-chan, it was a joke! Come back! I can’t do this alone!”

\--

“No need to take off your shoes, Iwa-chan, we won’t be staying for too long.” Oikawa spreads his arms wide, an insane smile stretched on his pretty face. The dogs scratch at the door for a while, intent on getting inside but give up shortly after. The house is considerably plain, not that Ushijima Wakatoshi seems like the type of guy who’s into décor, but Hajime had expected more. Why not flaunt your money a little when you’re overflowing with it.

“Hey, darling, I’m here now,” Oikawa calls out to no one in particular. His voice echoes, disturbs the otherwise peaceful silence. “Why don’t you come out and greet me? Oh, that’s right _you. fucking. can’t!_ ” each of Oikawa’s mirthless words are followed by a hard swing of his bat. The vase that’s been resting on a small glass table shatters to a million tiny pieces along with the table's surface. “Because you’re at your fucking big-shot match right now, leading your team to victory, hoping to come back to your little bitch of a girlfriend—maybe give you a victory kiss, right? Nip on your lower lip, suck on your tongue, just the way you like!” Another swing.

Hajime hides in the shadows of the hallway, pretending that he’s a fifth wall, a pillar that’s providing the brunet his privacy. Tooru cackles like a demon has possessed him, but Hajime can still hear his voice breaking, breath turning ragged.

“Fuck you, _Toshi_ , and fuck your lies!” Tears stream down Oikawa’s cheeks as he goes ballistic. “I’m not your bitch, not a bird you could keep hidden in these walls… l-like some fucking cage. Well, guess what!? The bird flew away! The bird found its nest and a place it could call home, _the home which you could not provide_.”

With those words he turns on his heel and stumbles/runs to the stairs located at the left corner of the spacious living room, taking three at the time. Hajime doesn’t follow and closes his eyes listening to any warning sounds of getting discovered, listening to Oikawa’s fake cackling and sobs as he trashes the second floor.

He cannot believe that he let Oikawa trash Ushiwaka’s domain - he is the one who initiated it to begin with - but he’s in love and it _hurts_.

\--

Hajime has to forcefully drag Tooru away from the overgrown mutts that are seriously suspicious by now, and they get out of there so fast that Pissbaby’s tires screech against the road.

Oikawa is panting, his eyes rimmed red, the back of his head pressed against the seat. Adrenaline is still pumping in his veins and he smiles, exhaling through his mouth. “Fuck, that felt good. Liberating.”

It’s all Iwaizumi needs to hear as they start laughing so hard that tears form in their eyes. They wonder what Ushijima’s expression will be like the moment he gets home but at the same time they couldn’t care less because by then they will be far far away.

 

xii.

 

They stop in some parking garage at the outskirts of the town. Iwaizumi waits for Tooru to get out and locks the van as they climb to the seventh floor. Tooru looks over the ledge, green light illuminating his face and spreads his arms out when a gust of wind blows by. There’s something about the view that punches the breath right out of Iwaizumi’s lungs all at once. Police sirens disturb the silence. Oikawa jokes that they’re probably looking for them.

“I want to go somewhere higher,” Tooru announces after a while and looks around. There’s a construction located to the side, metal poles stretching towards the sky, and he runs up to it, Hajime following in tow. “There, at the very top!”

“You do realize that you might get yourself killed, right?” Hajime questions, but Oikawa is already squeezing himself through the gap in the chain link fence. He tightly holds onto the metal bars for support and perches there, feet swinging over the ledge. If he were to shift any closer, lean in forward, then he'd plummet down and splat against the sidewalk that looks like a stretch of tiny, gray rectangles. Tooru looks up instead of looking down though, his brown hair ruffled by the night breeze. The look he pins Hajime with is pleading.

“Are you going to stand there or join me?”

“Stand here.”

“Why? Are you afraid of heights?”

Hajime looks downwards. They are _really fucking high_ and it’s enough to make his head spin. “Not a huge fan,” he mumbles moodily.

Hajime’s heart almost falls out through his mouth when Tooru quickly, and really fucking carelessly, jumps up, one hand extended for Hajime to take a hold of. He only stares, dumbfounded.

“No.”

“Aw, c’mon, Iwa-chan, don’t be such a stuck-up. You helped me through this, so it’s only fair I repay you somehow.” He’s balancing his weight on one leg now and Hajime swallows down the urge to close his eyes. He’s gonna fall, _oh my god_ —

Tooru’s fingers curl into the sleeve of his gray hoodie and Hajime looks up, reluctant and still very much queasy. Those brown eyes seem black in this green light, but they shine brightly nevertheless. “Just try it. If you hate it then you can go back to being a chicken.”

“I’m going to push you off the ledge myself,” Iwaizumi growls in warning and places one unstable foot on the metal. It’s solid and doesn’t even squeak from extra weight. It sort of calms him down. “Don’t you dare to let me go,” he squeaks out indignantly when his leg shakes.

“I won’t, I won’t! I got you, Iwa!” Oikawa promises and with some help Iwaizumi is sitting next to him and _oh wow_ , this really does feel kind of nice.

The wind brushes against his face and Tooru looks into his eyes, his expression gentle. “Hey, Iwa-chan—“

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.”

Iwaizumi feels that familiar heat settle in the pit of his stomach. “D-Don’t you turn all sappy on me, idiot. It’s nothing. Uh… without you I really wouldn’t be here.”

“You’d probably be lying in a ditch of Death Valley, Shiro broken down.”

Iwaizumi wants to correct him as always but lets it slide. He doesn’t want to ruin this strange mood. “I guess you’re right.”

“No directions to follow… I’m the same actually!” Oikawa musses over it. “I had no idea where I was or where I was going when you found me. I just knew that I had to get somewhere. I believed in my luck one last time and what do you know. Lucky Tooru is an actual thing; don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” he laughs, voice strangely airy and closes his eyes. “Thanks for giving me a direction.”

Iwaizumi is beet red by the time Tooru finishes his speech. “Uh… well, I guess the time I've spent with you wasn’t that bad. You were seriously annoying at first - you still are to be honest - but… I don’t dislike it. It’s better than having no one. So thank you for your time, and—” he stops mid-rant when Tooru leans in dangerously close, their lips almost touching when he speaks.

“You say it like it’s the end.”

“I… I, _uh_ —” Iwaizumi wants to say something, anything, but there’s a distinct cough behind his back and they both look up, startled.

A tall man is standing there, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He fishes out a lighter from the pocket of his khaki pants and lights the cig, the sleeve of his shirt rolling down to show a row of tribal tattoos in the process. “Iwaizumi, yeah? Sorry to interrupt your… _lil’ chat_ , but I’m here for the van.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows knit as he openly glares at the man. “What about the van?” he asks coldly and Iwaizumi coughs awkwardly. Shit, it completely slipped his mind.

“Go to the sixth, we’ll be there in a few.”

The guy spits over the rail. “Sure, but don’t make me wait for too long. Promised to be back with the van by…” He checks his phone. “ 11.30 p.m., so I can give ya ten minutes at most.”

“Right,” Iwaizumi says plainly and waits for the guy to fuck off. He turns to Tooru who's already opening his mouth to bombard him with questions and carefully rises. “It would be for the best if you came along, packed your stuff and said goodbye.”

“What,” Oikawa gapes, lower lip quivering. “What do you mean ‘said goodbye’? Hajime, what’s going on here?”

“We can talk on solid ground,” Iwaizumi responds, slightly annoyed. Oikawa immediately climbs after him and Hajime speed-walks away, the other barely keeping up.

“We’re on ‘ _solid ground_ ’ just like you wanted, so tell me what’s going on! Now!” he flares up after Iwaizumi tries his best to ignore him and his stares, grabs his wrist and doesn’t budge an inch.

The black-haired man only rubs his temples, exasperated. Maybe he really did phrase it wrongly. “I’m selling Pis—the van to this guy. It won’t last for much longer and you know it. I’m gonna go back with him and buy a new one instead. Promised a cheap price and—“

“What,” Tooru’s loud voice echoes in the empty parking garage. The guy from before looks up in mild surprise and amusement. “You want to _sell_ Shiro.”

“Pissbaby—you know what, whatever. I made a deal. There’s nothing to be done about it.” He nods in the guy’s general direction, drags himself and Oikawa closer to the van. In this light it looks so white and big that Iwaizumi isn’t completely sure it’s  _his Pissbaby_. Tooru stubbornly digs his heels into the asphalt and tries to hold his ground, along with Hajime.

The future customer snorts but hides it by faking a coughing fit induced by smoke.

It’s fucking embarrassing. Iwaizumi sharply turns back, taken aback by the blatant rage reflected in Oikawa’s eyes. He tries to wrench his wrist away, but to no avail. The guy’s pretty strong when he wants to be.

“What the fuck is your problem, man!?” Hajime hisses lowly so that the third party standing a little further away won’t overhear them. “It’s just a fucking van, seriously, let go.”

“No.”

“ _Now, Tooru_.” He punctuates his words with another tug.

“You’re so fucking selfish sometimes, I’m astounded.” Despite the livid anger he radiates, Iwaizumi notices Oikawa’s lower lip trembling and he wants to say something, _anything_ , to stop the impending downpour, but he simply cannot. He’s just a little kid seated in the barren lands, looking up at the black clouds that promise a storm, rumbling ominously in the distance. He stays silent, fingers crossed, hoping that the rain clouds will dissipate. They don't.

Oikawa sucks in a sharp breath and at that moment he looks broken, more than ever.

“So is this really it? You leave with an excuse like that and I never see you again? Do you have a heart, Iwa-chan?” Despite the fact that it’s meant to sound lighthearted so that it would seem like he does not, in fact, care, it only rolls off his tongue like something bitter. Resentful.

Something unpleasant lodges itself in Hajime’s throat and refuses to disappear, making it unnecessarily harder to breathe. He’s positively flabbergasted at what he’s hearing, at what Oikawa _has heard_. His mouth opens and closes uselessly a few times, lips formed in a beginning of the word ‘what?’. However, before he can utter a sound, he’s interrupted. “You could’ve just told me that you planned to _ditch me_ after you helped me.”

“I— _what_? Tooru, I never... I’ll be gone for an hour at most,” Hajime stumbles over his words in his haste to clear up this horrible misunderstanding. “I’m only selling-”

Those words violently strum on Tooru’s heartstrings as he hiccups and the downpour Hajime's always hated and feared starts. Big tears roll down Tooru’s cheeks, splat against the pavement and he looks completely lost in this garage bathed in dimmed green lights. His eyes are overflowing with hurt, _so much of it_ , betrayal, and mistrust.

Iwaizumi doesn’t get the chance to be mesmerized yet crushed by the view when Tooru brushes past him, shoulders bumping none too gently. Fearing that he might start a fight - Iwaizumi wouldn’t be too shocked, taking Tooru’s current state of mind into consideration - he follows, almost tripping in the process.

Tooru comes to an abrupt halt once he reaches the van and instead of sucker-punching the guy who looks more and more uncomfortable with every second, he touches the van's uneven roof. The silence is positively deafening but Hajime knows that it's the calm before a blinding flash of electricity hits the ground and he isn’t sure if he wants to be there when it happens.

For the first time in his life, the young boy fears the thunder.

But when Oikawa turns around, no lightning strikes can be seen, no thunderclaps can be heard in the distance. There’s only resignation and sadness. “You _can’t_ sell Shiro, Hajime... you just c-can’t...” he sniffles pathetically and it suddenly dawns on Hajime that he's the one holding this in his hands, _he is the cause of this storm, and only he has the power to stop it_. He watches, breathless, as Oikawa presses his forehead against the side of the van that's served them loyally as their transportation, as their home. The home neither of them truly had in this country.

“Hajime, I’m not asking for much. I never asked much from you in general, so _please_... if this is truly the end just... leave it to me. I’ll pay you back! And then we can... g-go our separate ways.”

 _Ahh, so here’s the lightning_ , Hajime thinks dimly as he regards the pitiful view before him. Not even once has it hit him full force. He's always been carefully threading these unstable grounds, too afraid to get too involved or cause something he didn’t know how to deal with beforehand.

Those words leave Tooru’s mouth and Hajime finally sees him in a different light, feels what the other is most likely feeling as well, probably always has. To be honest he feels stupid and equally lost.

It's like he’s been roaming around in the dark for the last four weeks and someone has suddenly switched on the lights inside his head. He has to squint because his eyes _fucking sting_.

He deliberately approaches Oikawa, watches him flinch with every step he takes, completely ignores the guy who is gaping like he’s watching the world's most entertaining soap opera - hell, Iwaizumi has completely forgotten why he was there to begin with, all attention focused on the sobbing man.

He's unsure if what he's doing is right when he reaches out, slowly, carefully as to not startle the other and hugs him awkwardly. It makes Tooru sob louder and his hands twist in Hajime’s hoodie, pulling him closer until there’s not a hair width of space left between them, and then places his hands on the Iwaizumi’s chest, pushing slightly.

The black-haired man only holds on tighter, absorbing the shivers that shake Tooru’s frame. The closer they get, the more it hurts. It feels as though they are sharing this pain and Hajime wants this, wants to be his anchor, to always take at least some of his companion's burden.

“You can’t, Iwa-chan, you can’t, you can’t...” he blubbers like a broken record and stops pushing Hajime away altogether. “It’s _ours_ , it’s _my home_."

If Hajime was any weaker he probably would’ve been swept away by Tooru’s pace and broken down as well, but he likes to consider himself mentally strong. He’s a pillar and he needs to act like one. It’s almost like a duty.

From the corner of his eyes he notices that the guy is slowly inching away – Hajime’s almost glad that he didn't have to snap at him to leave - and he squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling slowly. He gently threads his fingers in Tooru’s hair like he's done so many times before, hoping to calm him down, continuously praying for the rain clouds to disappear into nothing.

“Tooru, you’re so so stupid,” he whispers silently. The other’s sobs and choked breathing sound like gunshots being fired, it all seems so loud that it feels almost unreal. “I would never do something like that, okay? So stop, that’s enough-”

Hajime drags the tip of his nose along the damp skin of Tooru’s jaw – it’s the most affectionate he’s ever been in all of the nineteen years of his life - tilts his head just so, so that he can look into the other's eyes, but they’re closed, eyelids twitching, wet eyelashes trembling. Tooru’s lips are parted slightly as if expecting something to happen. Hajime stops thinking as he obeys and leans in closer.

“Everything... is alright,” he mutters in reassurance and presses their mouths together - a light brush of lips, so gentle it seems barely there.

It tastes like salt, regret and maybe a little like sweets.

“I’m so sorry,” Hajime says once they disconnect. “Sorry for not noticing.”

For the first time in the considerably short while they've spent together, Tooru Oikawa, who likes sassing Hajime Iwaizumi more than he enjoys bad pop songs and vanilla ice-cream, does not make any biting remarks, only noses the shorter one's neck, messy hair tickling the tender skin there.

His hand seeks out Iwaizumi’s and they lace their fingers. Hajime automatically tightens his grip, thumb brushing over Tooru’s knuckles.

They stand together for what seems to be hours, _days_ , the silence sometimes disturbed by an occasional car driving by a few floors under their feet, rattling the metal. It’s dark except for the flickering white lights further away. Sometimes a gust of wind hits their sides, messing up Tooru’s hair even further and Hajime swears that he hears the wind carry those words that make him shiver:

“I love you, Iwa-chan.”

\--

Hajime’s phone beeps inside his pocket.

‘Lol dude, you gotta do sth about your boyfriend’

The phone is tossed on the passenger seat as Hajime runs his fingertips under Tooru’s gleaming eyes and kisses him again and again.

 

xiii.

 

They never say it out loud. There are no heart-warming confessions, no kissing under the blinding city lights, no fireworks exploding. It’s not because they’re shy or need verbal reassurance that this is real.

It's because they both know it, _feel it_ , and for them - actions speak louder than words.

Hajime looks out to the ocean which he hates but adores nonetheless, feet buried in the white sand of the same shores he swore to never thread. The cold water rises up to his knees, soaking his rolled up jeans with salty water and the wind blows against his face, unforgiving. He thinks about the night he ran away and vowed to never return to this side of the country, and yet-

Tooru stands by his side, staring into the distance where the sun and ocean blend into one, coloring the sky in pinks and oranges. It seems like something painted on a cheap postcard with cursive ‘Welcome to San Fran’ printed on the corner.

“It’s beautiful,” his lover breathes out and Hajime holds the man’s hand tighter.

It’s definitely a start. They’re not sure where they are going or where they’ll end up a few years from now, but it’s something. It’s more than they ever had.

It’s just the two of them and their loyal friend.


End file.
